


hold me tight (or don't)

by aminami



Series: aki's self-indulgent drabbles [4]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Violence, Murder (mentioned), Possessive Behavior, Public Hand Jobs, Voyeurism, couples that murder together stay together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27662822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aminami/pseuds/aminami
Summary: “Look at yourself—you’re horny, you’re jealous, and best of all, you’re a filthy murderer just like me. Frankly, you’re all mine to command.”“Surprised?”“No,” Akechi chuckles. “I always knew I could turn you ugly.”Every week Akira follows Goro Akechi to a club—until finally, Akechi asks him to dance with no intention of letting go.(written for day 5 and 6 of shuake week: outfits and sin)
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: aki's self-indulgent drabbles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014468
Comments: 13
Kudos: 183





	hold me tight (or don't)

_Week four_

_Blond, tattoo on his left arm, white shirt, polite speech—a foreigner._

_Crooked teeth, undercut, nice tan—recently went to Okinawa._

_Short, injured leg, big eyes, fluffy hair—Kansai dialect, but he’s trying to sound like he’s from Tokyo._

Akira flips the descriptions in his mind, slowly, and without much interest.

It’s funny how dehumanized they become the moment they step through the door of the club. It’s like being surrounded by Shadows all over again, except Akira can’t just pave his way through them without bloodshed.

But just like in the Metaverse, he knows their weaknesses, their preferences. If he tries hard enough, he can make himself virtually invisible—it doesn’t even require sneaking around. He’s just another talking head after all.

As always, the club is full of the usual suspects. At this point, Akira knows all of them, so he sticks to keeping tabs on the ones he doesn’t know. Except—

_Red eyes, honey-brown hair, always wears dark clothes with matching black gloves—beautiful._

Akira lets his gaze linger.

The lights are so blinding that he can still see them dancing under his eyelids whenever he closes his eyes. His mouth is weirdly dry, so against his better judgment, he orders a drink, tapping his fingers impatiently against the counter to the beat of the music. This one night he was supposed to keep himself sober, but he’ll worry about it later.

Akira lost count of how many guys he watched Akechi jerk off so far. There’s no way security hasn’t seen it, but they know as well as Akira does that Akechi is responsible for bringing half the crowd here every Saturday for a good month now.

And every Saturday, Akira follows him miserably just to sit on the barstool, ignoring every guy attempting to flirt with him, and eventually, they leave him alone.

Being a regular in places like these eventually makes you develop natural instinct for people who aren’t interested in anyone in particular—or maybe they are interested in a rather specific _someone_ , but in both scenarios, you don’t stand a chance.

“You poor thing,” the bartender places the drink in front of him. “I see so many lovestruck fools here every evening, yet I’ve never seen someone who has it so bad for someone as you do for this guy.”

“It’s not like that,” Akira says, sliding his finger around the edge of the glass. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh honey,” he eyes Akechi critically like he’s a judge at a talent show about to send another hopeful contestant home. “Crop top, eyeliner, smudged mascara, bags under his eyes, so thin he could poke someone’s eyes out with his chest alone...I’ve seen the type. You know what I mean?”

Akira raises his eyebrow waiting for him to continue. “That dreamboat is a real-life RMS Titanic, and you, my friend, want to get yourself a first-class ticket to sink down all the way to the bottom.”

Something about the way he says it makes Akira’s blood boil. As if he—or anyone else for that matter— knows anything at all about Goro Akechi.

“Mind your own business,” he snarls. The last thing he needs right now is a talkative bartender. “You don’t know anything about him, he’s not—”

The words die in his throat.

The bartender shrugs, his eyes above Akira’s shoulder. “Just see for yourself. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Akira follows his gaze just in time to see some disgusting old guy Akechi’s currently dancing with trace a finger over his lips, holding a white pill under his thumb. Akechi opens his mouth willingly to accept it, licking the guy’s fingers as if he’s trying to drive Akira nuts on purpose.

The bartender fucks off at least, sparing him one last pitiful glance before tending to some other lonely fool. Good, because Akira is done trying to pretend like anyone else in this club matters. Even if someone set this place on fire, Akira wouldn’t be able to look away from Akechi.

He can see the sharp edges of Akechi’s ribcage when his ridiculously short top rides all the way up to his chest as the guy he’s currently dancing with slides his hand down Akechi’s stomach. If he wasn’t so busy humping Akechi’s leg like a dog, he’d likely notice a mix of satisfaction and disgust flashing through Akechi’s features. He’s so beautiful like this Akira would give anything to be on the other side of that gaze.

Akechi grabs the guy’s hair—forcefully, but he smiles like he knows he can get away with it—to whisper something into his ear. Naturally, Akira can’t hear them talking, but the guy looks like he just won the lottery, and he follows Akechi into the bathroom.

Akira snorts into his glass. He won something alright. If Akechi takes someone to the bathroom, it can only mean one thing.

The minutes drag on and Akira forces himself to finish his drink—it’s enough to get his skin buzzing to the beat of the music, but not enough to get him really drunk. After some time, all songs start sounding the same, it’s just background noise for all the shit that goes on in the private rooms. This club always turns into a living beast, more hungry with every passing hour. It’s probably why it’s Akechi’s favorite.

Finally, after he almost lost all hope, Akira feels an impatient tapping on his shoulder. He turns around nonchalantly, like he didn’t expect Akechi to come.

“Can I offer you a dance?”

Akira eyes Akechi starting with his disheveled hair, smudged makeup, letting his gaze drop all the way to his toned stomach, and the leather pants hanging low on his hips. His fly is still undone and Akira is pretty sure he can see the leftover come still sticking to his glove. Akechi follows his gaze, and he puts a finger in his mouth to lick it clean— it makes something ugly flip in Akira’s stomach.

“You’re getting sloppy,” he points out. “Tell me—do you always have to be the star of the show?”

“What’s the point of doing anything if I’m not fucking great at it?” Akechi reaches out to hook his fingers under Akira’s belt to pull him up to his feet. “Come on, I don’t have all night. We’re dancing.”

Akira allows Akechi to maneuver him to the dance floor, feeling a ping of irritation every time someone’s body bumps into him. He can hear the bartender scream, _Looks like today is your lucky day, kid_ , and he can see Akechi’s smirk when he does.

With Akechi at his side, the music seems to get even louder. His heart thumps heavily to the beat, feeling his hand grow sweaty in Akechi’s grasp. He waited for this moment so long, but he still does his best to hide his excitement.

Akechi doesn’t waste his time and he immediately wraps his arms around Akira’s neck, bringing their bodies closer together. Whatever he’s done in the bathroom, it was enough to get him hard, but at least it means he didn’t let the other guy jerk him off, which comes as a certain relief. Akira is fine with anything as long as they don’t touch Akechi.

He’d break the fingers of anyone who even attempted to.

“Nice outfit you got yourself there,” he tells Akechi, wishing they could have this conversation someplace that wouldn’t inevitably result in a temporary loss of hearing. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you.”

“It’s utterly distasteful,” Akechi chuckles, his breath warm against Akira’s ear. “Figures you’d like it.”

“Oh really?” Akira places his hands on Akechi’s hips, letting his thumbs dig into Akechi’s exposed skin. “If you find it so distasteful, then why the hell are you wearing a crop top?”

“I don’t know, Kurusu,” Akechi rolls his eyes, but his body arches willingly into Akira’s hands. “Why would I wave a carrot in front of a donkey?”

Akira laughs humorlessly. “Am I the donkey in this scenario?”

Akechi doesn’t answer. Instead, he sneaks his hand between their hips and Akira hisses when Akechi squeezes his half-hard dick through his jeans.

“Apparently so,” he purrs.

Goro Akechi is the most dangerous person on the planet, and Akira can’t wait to be eaten alive.

Akira swallows. “We should get out of here.”

“Straight to business, huh?” Akechi cocks his head to the side, exposing his neck. He has a couple of hickeys there, likely left by all these other guys, and Akira’s hands squeeze around Akechi’s shoulder, hoping he’s going to leave a mark of his own.

He’s so insufferable tonight that Akira has half a mind to fuck him into oblivion in front of all these people. Instead, he does the next best thing and zips Akechi’s pants for him, just to watch his face turn into an ugly mix of disappointment, rejection, and finally—anger.

“I mean because of the dead body in the bathroom?” Akira states and Akechi glances around them nervously. “How are you so calm about this? We need to get out of here before someone catches on.”

Akechi’s hand is still on his cock and he tries his best to ignore it.

“Don’t make me regret taking you with me,” Akechi snaps back. “If we get out of here too fast, it’s going to be suspicious.”

“You were pretty versatile tonight,” Akira points out. Akechi’s scowl turns into a smile, knowing that he successfully managed to drive Akira insane—he nips under Akira’s jaw as a reward. “You’re— _ah_ —always showing off, driving me wild—”

Akechi bites him playfully. “Says the king of showing off.”

“The cops are already onto you,” Akira says. His hips jerk involuntarily when Akechi starts messing with his zipper. “Not to mention that snoopy bartender.”

“I’m just having a little fun,” Akechi continues his ministrations, stopping to suck on Akira’s neck every now and then. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a very fun person to be around, Kurusu.”

“Tweaked out is what you are,” Akira grabs Akechi’s hand and forces it away from his crotch. He holds Akechi’s wrist between their bodies, trying not to draw everyone’s attention. “Do you even know what he gave to you?”

Akechi’s gaze is a little unfocused. He’s drunk, that much is sure—he always gets free drinks, after all. “I didn’t take anything from him.”

“Bullshit, I saw you—”

Akechi clicks his tongue impatiently. “You think you saw something, he thought he saw something. Great, that just means I’m a professional. I did learn some of the best tricks from a thief, after all.”

Of course, Akechi was able to fool him—he’s the one person on the planet who can.

Akira finally relaxes—he rests his forehead against Akechi’s, and he allows himself to breathe. Akechi smells like sex, sweat, and cheap booze and even so, it’s the best thing Akira’s ever smelled.

“You’re having way too much fun with this,” Akira says eventually. He can feel—rather than hear—Akechi’s chest vibrate with laughter.

“You’re only saying this because you wish you could have some fun with _this_ ,” Akechi grinds his hips against Akira’s, and for a moment, Akira allows himself to drown in the friction, his cock so hard in his pants he can barely think straight.

“So it was our guy?” he asks. “Are you sure?”

It’s Akechi’s turn to get cautious. “Kurusu, this is hardly the right place to—”

“I’m going to let you in on another thief secret,” Akira grabs Akechi’s chin forcefully to make him look at the people around them. “I spent four weeks watching you like a pathetic fool, so I know something about this place. These people? They don’t see us anymore. They can’t hear us, they _don’t want_ to hear us. The louder the place, the safer it is to discuss things.”

“Fair enough,” Akechi pulls himself out of Akira’s grip. Akira already knows he held him hard enough to bruise, and he can’t wait to see it stain his flawless skin the next day. “It was definitely our guy. I recognized him from one of Shido’s parties.”

Past tense. Good.

Their bodies continue to grind against each other as the music speeds up.

“And he just let you kill him?” Akira snorts. Akechi might be a skillful assassin, but somehow Akira finds it hard to believe.

“Let’s just say he got a taste of his own medicine,” Akechi replies evasively, using Akira’s distraction to undo his belt. Akira opens his mouth to protest, but Akechi stops him. “Play along, _Joker_. Maybe they can’t hear us, but we’re still being watched. It’s going to be less suspicious if you just let me do you like I did all these other guys.”

“Fine,” Akira says and Akechi smirks triumphantly, but Akira just grabs his wrist again. “But get rid of the gloves first.”

It always feels nice to catch Goro Akechi off guard, and the way his eyes widen makes it even more worth it. “What?”

“I’m not letting you jerk me off with the same gloves you used on those guys,” Akira clarifies, his finger just above the edge of Akechi’s glove, tapping against his naked wrist. He refuses to touch the filthy leather, no matter how attractive Akechi looks wearing it.

“Possessive, aren’t you?” Akechi almost doesn’t smile. “Look at yourself—you’re horny, you’re jealous, and best of all, you’re a filthy murderer just like me. Frankly, you’re all mine to command.”

“Surprised?”

“No,” Akechi chuckles. “I always knew I could turn you ugly.”

Akira’s heart almost warms at the praise. “Take off your gloves.”

They’re both done making up excuses—that stupid charade went on long enough.

Goro Akechi is perfect—Akira doesn’t even need to tell him to use his mouth. Akechi doesn’t break eye contact when he pulls off the gloves, making sure to drag his teeth across each finger separately. He makes a show of it, the way Akira wanted him to, letting them drop one by one on the floor. Akira can imagine how filthy the leather tastes on Akechi’s tongue, with everything he’s done today.

Some part of his brain tells him to take caution—they’re leaving evidence behind, after all. But they’ve gone so far, it doesn’t even matter. They won’t even be in Japan tomorrow, and with how efficient they’ve been, it usually takes at least a few hours for the body to be found. By the time this place gets hot, they’ll be on their way to the airport, if not out of the country.

It’s nice not to have to be overly careful for a change—they spent months planning this disappearing act after all, and even now, Akira’s sure nothing can possibly go wrong.

Akechi finally wins the fight against Akira’s tight pants, and Akira can’t help but groan when Akechi shoves his bare hand unceremoniously inside his boxers. He wonders briefly if anyone can actually spot them in the darkness of the club, but at this point, he doesn’t even care.

“So how many of Shido’s guys depended on this guy?” he asks casually, Akechi’s hand nice and warm around his cock.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Akechi growls. “Are you really going to make me talk about the dead guy who worked for _my father_ when I jerk you off?”

“You’re saying murder talk doesn’t turn you on?” Akira laughs. “I find it hard to believe, considering how hard you were when you came out of that bathroom.”

“And I can tell you’ve more than enjoyed watching me play with all these guys,” Akechi rolls his eyes, flicking his wrist, and Akira howls, leaning into the curve of Akechi’s neck, letting his body collapse against him. “You’re a mess, honey.”

“Goro—” Akira whimpers. “I swear if you don’t—please, just _faster_ —”

“No, you’re right,” Akechi muses. “We should talk about it. We have all the time in the world.”

“You’re a dick,” Akira says but Akechi only flicks his thumb over the top of Akira’s cock in response. “Fine, so why tonight? We spent two months tracking him down, one month trying to spot him here, and tonight he just willingly followed you to the bathroom?”

“It’s very easy to get people hooked in a club,” Akechi shrugs, fastening his pace. “He knew as much. He was scouting, from what I know he’d do it at least once a month. He didn’t recognize me, from my outfit he concluded I’m just another dumb slut that should be easy enough to toy with. The prettier they are, the more useful they get, and it’s all about temptation in the end.”

“Oh really?” Akira forces himself to say. It feels like Akechi’s going to stop touching him unless he keeps on talking. “How would you go about tempting me?”

He already did so, repeatedly, but it doesn’t really matter.

“Like this,” Akechi leans in, slipping his tongue into Akira’s mouth. Akira melts into him, feeling like he’s finally going to fall apart, because nothing, _nothing_ can even compare to kissing Goro Akechi. Not the thrill of getting caught, not getting a hand job in the middle of a club, not even the adrenaline of committing a crime.

Akechi’s always known how to drive him wild, and from the way he sets the pace, Akira can easily tell he’s determined to get him off as quickly as possible. Their tongues slide together lazily, as the deafening music around them suddenly grows quiet.

It’s an illusion, he knows it is, but it still feels nice to finally be able to hear Akechi’s quicked breath, the wet sounds as he jerks Akira off—

“Akira, come on—” Akechi whimpers impatiently into the kiss, and it’s the mention of his name that pushes him over the edge. He comes into Akechi’s hand, letting himself be held, as his body shakes with aftershocks, and Akechi slides his hand up and down his neck tenderly, the way he never did with all these other guys. Only then the music comes back with full force—who knows, maybe from a certain perspective, it just looked like they were dancing all this time. Maybe not everyone observes people as keenly as Akira does.

He’s so stunned he barely registers Akechi pulling his hand out from his underwear, not bothering to fix his pants. Akira watches him lick the come off his deliciously bare fingers, and he knows he’s the luckiest man alive.

“Come on, we’re leaving,” Akechi says through the music.

No one stops them on their way out, which seems like a good sign. They leave through the main exit, circling around the building until they find themselves in the empty alley where they left their stuff— just in case if they managed to succeed tonight.

Akira follows Goro into the alley, and only then he pushes him against the wall, unable to stop himself. It makes something wild rise in Akechi’s eyes, like he’s a trapped animal about to be eaten alive, and out of all the looks he’s seen on him so far, it’s probably Akira’s favorite.

Akechi struggles against Akira’s body, but it’s clear he’s too intrigued to actually free himself from Akira’s grip. “Akira, what the fuck—”

Akira drags his nails down Akechi’s chest, sliding it all the way down to his cock, palming his crotch with his full hand. “I’m not letting you leave like this.”

Akechi looks at him like he’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen. “I’m going to fucking kill you, we don’t have time to—”

“Then don’t waste my time,” Akira says as he gets on his knees.

He pushes Akechi’s crop top to reveal his nipples, and he smirks to himself when Akechi gasps at the feeling of cold air against his bare chest.

“Touch yourself for me,” he commands. He knows Akechi’s too tired not to listen to him at this point.

Sure enough, Akechi obeys, moaning as he plays with his hard nipples with one hand, the other gripping Akira’s hair so hard he can feel the tears pricking his eyes.

“That crop top really does it for you, huh?” Akechi teases.

Akira lets his tongue dip inside Akechi’s belly button before answering, his other hand fumbling with the strap of Akechi’s leather pants. He already knows Akechi’s not wearing any underwear—Akira’s the one who got the stupid pants for him, after all, and he heard Akechi complain about it on more than one occasion.

“You have no idea what this outfit does to me,” he mutters, sliding Akechi’s pants down his legs until they stop at his ankles.

Akechi is gorgeous, his heavy cock already leaking with precum, and it only takes a few strokes to get him to full hardness. As much as Akira would love to fuck with Akechi and tease him for everything he’s done in the club, they really are running out of time, so he decides to cut things short.

“You can fuck my throat if you want to,” he says, pumping Akechi’s cock. “Just don’t stop touching yourself, I want to know you’re doing it.”

Akechi nods with a small whine. “Just fucking hurry.”

Akira takes him all the way down his throat, moaning at the taste. Even if they get caught, the sound Akechi makes makes up for everything that might happen. He thrusts his hips impatiently, and Akira manages to relax his throat just in time as Akechi shoves his length into Akira’s willing mouth, holding him by the hair for leverage.

It’s one of the many things Akira loves about him—he never goes easy on him, he’s always efficient and relentless, using him for his own pleasure like it’s his birthright. And Akira accepts all of it, choking and coughing around Akechi’s cock, but he can’t bring himself to mind.

It doesn’t last long anyway and when Akechi comes, Akira swallows every drop, squeezing his ass briefly before letting go. Akechi slides down the brick wall and Akira catches him, spent and content.

It’s only then that they finally slip off their masks, dropping their acts for good. Akira loves this part—the part when Akechi becomes Goro, and Kurusu becomes Akira. Goro pulls him up impatiently, pushing his fingers into Akira’s hair to bring him closer.

“I love you,” Goro says into the kiss.

It’s far more tender than the kiss they shared in the club, and they let their lips slide against each other like the time has stopped. They both need this, they need every last drop of intimacy they can possibly get. It took Goro five years to finally tell Akira that he loves him, but once he did, he couldn’t get enough of it.

That’s the beauty of it all—they might be murderers, felons, and frankly, it’s going to be a miracle if they don’t get caught. But most importantly, they’re lovers, and no adrenaline rush will ever top that.

“I love you, too,” Akira mutters, and only then Goro pulls back, satisfied.

He helps Goro up to his feet and they change their clothes in silence. He’s a little sad to see the crop top go, they’ll likely have to get rid of all of their clothes on the way to the airport. Akira watches Goro remove his makeup when he’s caught staring. “You really think I looked hot like this?”

“I always think you’re hot,” Akira clarifies. “But that eyeliner looks good on you.”

“Well, I’m sure I’m going to need it again at some point,” Goro points out. “We took care of Shido’s guys in Japan, but they all scattered across the globe like the cockroaches they are, it’s only a matter of time until we run into another one. I’ll be happy to indulge you, then.”

“I thought we were going to lie low for now,” Akira says, zipping Goro’s jacket for him.

“We are,” Goro says. “I’m just thinking ahead.”

“Good,” Akira hums.

He’s getting more and more tired of the job, but it’s not like he’s only doing this for Goro. The thought of going back to his mundane life makes him feel physically sick, and with the Metaverse gone, he can’t exactly get his kicks elsewhere.

Besides, he sleeps better at night knowing these scum won’t hurt anyone else.

“It’s not like you to lose yourself like this,” Goro eyes him carefully. “What happened tonight? You were really fucking possessive, well, more so than usual.”

He says it like it’s a bad thing.

Goro knows that Akira gets off on seeing him with other guys, he has for a while now—that’s why he makes such a show out of it. But the thing Akira gets off to most is the sex they have afterward, knowing that he’s the only one allowed to have Goro like this. It’s what makes it worth it.

He can’t wait for Goro to fuck him when they have some time to themselves, if he sweet talks him into it, maybe they’ll do it on the plane. If they manage to get out of here, that is.

“I just hate it when it’s your turn,” he says simply. “I know you can handle yourself, but it’s still hard to watch you risk your life—it’s like you’re trying to get yourself killed, like you’re getting off on this. What if that guy managed to drug you? You’re always letting them come too close.”

The thing is, he probably does get off on this—but it’s all part of the thrill, Akira understands as much.

“Oh, because watching you whore yourself out on the dance floor is so easy for me,” Goro rolls his eyes. “You’re forgetting that out of the two of us, I’m the assassin. You’re the one who likes showing off.”

Akira shrugs, sliding his wedding band back into place as a sense of relief washes over his body—his hand always feels weirdly empty without it. “I guess it comes naturally to me. But I I didn’t fuck the guys I killed, I’m a gentleman.”

“Maybe that part comes naturally to me?” Goro stops him for a quick kiss. He doesn’t linger, but it’s enough to calm Akira down. “I’m the one who taught you everything I know, and you really don’t have to worry about me. You’re my partner in crime, I trust you more than anyone else—just try to remember that as we play our parts.”

“I’m also your loving husband,” Akira reminds him.

Goro rolls his eyes, wiggling his fingers in front of his face. “I have a very expensive piece of jewelry to remind me of it, yes, I’m aware.”

There’s another ‘I love you’ hidden in his playful tone and it makes Akira’s heart flutter.

“Stealing these rings was a nice way to spend our anniversary,” he recalls.

“I remember,” Goro smiles fondly, gathering the rest of their stuff into the duffel bags. “Come on, we still need to get to the airport. We’ll have time to reminiscence later. And maybe some other stuff if you play your cards right.”

“Goro.”

Goro stops, looking over his shoulder. The moonlight catches in his hair, his lips parting slightly upon seeing the expression on Akira’s face. His eyes are still smiling and full of love, likely mirroring Akira’s own, even if he tries to sound like he’s still a little pissed off. “What is it this time?”

“Do you think we’ll get caught someday?” he asks, out of the blue.

Goro regards him carefully, with something akin to fondness, and as much as he loves when Goro acts like he despises him, Akira can’t help to think that this is the real Goro, the one no one but him will ever get to see.

He’s beautiful, and he belongs to Akira, and it’s the most wonderful thing in the world.

“I don’t think it would be half as thrilling if I knew,” Goro replies eventually. “For now, just believe in me. Stick with me and I’ll give you the world.”

It’s the same words he said to Akira when he suggested getting married. Akira isn’t the only one who’s sentimental.

And he still intends to obey that promise. If there’s anything Akira Kurusu believes in, it’s the fact that Goro Akechi is an angel of death capable of bringing the whole world to its knees.

**Author's Note:**

> i was bound to use a fall out boy song in my fic's title at some point.
> 
> talk to me on [ twitter](https://twitter.com/akihmorn).


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